Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

260 :: JOHN R. MABRY
glered” by the friars. He had to have it on him. It was also
doubtful whether he would wear it into the baths—too easy
to lose it—even easier to have it stolen with a dozen anonymous
hands pawing at you.
No, he decided, it must be in that locker.
He peeked around the corner again to make sure that
Dane was out of sight, and then, as nonchalantly as he could,
he made for the front desk in search of an idea. Could he tell
the guy on duty that he’d forgotten his combination, and
could they please cut the lock off? What would he say when
it opened and the thing was full of clothes—when Richard
was already wearing clothes? They might make him prove
the contents were his, maybe look at the wallet? Too risky,
he told himself. “Shit!” he breathed, and willed himself to be
calm. He may not view himself as a good man, but Richard
knew what he loved, and there was way too much at stake
to blow this. At the end of the foyer was a Dutch door, the
upper half of the door wide open, and the lower half slightly
ajar, with soiled towels piled on its ledge. Glancing back
at the front desk, Richard saw that it was mobbed with people
either trying to get in, or complaining about someone’s
behavior in the baths. Three employees were trying to expedite
things, and none, fortuitously, were taking any notice of
him. He ducked through the Dutch door and, casting about
with barely controlled panic, found himself in a utility room.
A free-standing tool chest on rollers was pushed to one side
of the room, almost obscured by towels. He leaped to it, and
jerked open the lowest and largest drawer. Inside there was
only a very large crescent wrench and some rusted pipe. He
tried the second largest drawer, and nearly fainted from
relief—a pair of short-handled bolt cutters.
Acting quickly he found a stack of clean towels and
wrapped one around the cutters. Then he made for the door.
He had just entered the hall when a voice stopped him.